Chapter 3 #3
“Wake up, I’m right here. You don’t need any of them.” He mouths, and I read every single word. They ignite my body all over again. I have no idea what angels look like, but it feels like he is one. Maybe he is a guardian angel, and I’m a burning flame sparked to life at his command.
There’s just something about him.
He slithers his way into my heart when he’s being real like that. But then he always pulls back because he works for my grandma and has to abide by the rules.
Our eye contact breaks when someone joins the couch. I’m smashed against the armrest, Larson’s body pressing into my side even more now. A grin decorates his face as he slowly stretches his arm, letting it drop onto the headrest behind me.
“I got this, Winnie,” Larson offers.
I lower my gaze to see a tiny bag filled with a white substance resting in the palm of his hand.
I side-eye him, impatiently holding this useless death stare. Before I even have the chance to decline, my Catwoman costume gets soaked with a large amount of liquid. It feels like someone spilled a bucket of water all over me.
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I get up, not bothering to see who spilled it, and make a beeline for the bathroom across the hallway.
My bodyguard is already on my heels.
“Don’t say I don’t get you wet.” The hint of amusement colors his husky voice, making me feel both pissed and turned on at the same time. “You’re welcome.”
“There’s a buzz in my ear that won’t go away.”
“Haha. Maybe liars attract insects like me.”
My jaw tightens as irritation climbs up my body. I shake my head to stop myself from saying something stupid.
“Rule number one.”
“Always stay alert, yeah, yeah.” I finish the rule he’s been reciting for months.
“Do you want me to watch your purse?” Larson runs toward me as I reach the door, but my bodyguard blocks him, directing a malicious glare his way, probably wanting to strangle him.
“Actually, that’s my boyfriend. He’s super protective.” The words slip out, and I grin. His eyes darken, and a dangerous flash crosses them as he cracks his neck from side to side. “Please behave,” I whisper.
“No guarantees,” he responds nonchalantly, wearing that prominent scowl he tends to make before I enter the bathroom.
As I’m about to exit the door, I stop my shoe just in time over Larson’s unconscious body. My bodyguard stands there unfazed and unbothered, legs slightly apart, boots firmly planted against the floor, arms resting at his sides.
I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head to the side. “Did you kill him?” My brow instinctively rises.
“Maybe.” He doesn’t bother to look at me.
“Be serious for once.”
“Who says I’m not?”
I sigh. “Was it really necessary?”
“He talked too much, so I had to shut him up. He will get up in a few minutes.” He finally meets my gaze. “Or not.”
I step over Larson, giving him a stern sideways glance, and sashay through the hallway into the living room. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him smiling briefly before that annoying scowl returns.
I want to understand why he always uses that disguise to conceal his emotions, as if it’s a reflex.
“You’re impossible.”
I reach for the door handle as it swings open. Broad shoulders tower over me. I crane my neck all the way up, and my hood falls off when I meet his piercing, icy-blue eyes—the kind that can light up the dark. They shimmer brightly, accentuated by the black paint covering the skin around them.
I squeeze my eyes shut and open them.
Confusion clouds everything.
His gaze locks with mine, frozen and raging, while I’m entranced. When I spot the silver, curved barbell piercing his thick eyebrow, I slowly breathe in through the slight gap between my dry lips.
He clears his throat. “It’s all yours,” he says, but my heart hears it first, and a shattering pang reverberates through me like a lost memory. It ticks wildly to his distinctive, husky voice as he moves out of my way.
It can’t be.
My husband doesn’t have piercings or tattoos.
Rule number four.
“Wait.”
Hearing the urgency in my voice, he stops and turns around.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I ask, already piecing it together.
“Jason Todd. He’s—”
“A character from a comic book.” I cut him off. “Not bad.”
“I had to work with what I had.” His platinum blonde streaks fall to his forehead, while the rest of his inky black hair is brushed back. “We have a lot in common,” he says, striding away and vanishing quickly beyond the circle of costumes.
I step into the bathroom and close the door. Staring at my bewildered reflection in the mirror, I turn on the tap and splash water over my eyes.
It’s not him.
It could never be him.
“I don’t want to stay at this party anymore,” I murmur.
“Finally. My brain cells are dying with every second I spend in this hell.” My bodyguard follows behind, being dramatic as always. I cross the house and walk down the street. “Do I need to carry you?”
“I’m not drunk,” I lash out. “I haven’t had one drink.”
“Look at you, following orders.”
I stop on purpose, causing him to walk straight into me before I turn around to face him. “I will pepper-spray you if you keep your mouth running.” I poke at his chest and spin to walk away, but he grabs my wrists and pulls me back to him.
“You don’t throw threats and get to walk away.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Let me show you something fun instead.” His gaze turns challenging, and his cold demeanor becomes flirtatious.
Why do I always feel perplexed around him?
I squint my eyes at him to hide my curiosity. “Where are we going?”
He signals me to follow him and points forward as we near the parking lot around the corner. “What do you say? I know you like bikes.”
“So, what… Now you own a bike?” I tease, shooting him a mischievous grin as I run my fingers along the black fairings of his gorgeous R1.
“Don’t fall in love,” he winks at me, and I roll my eyes. “I’ve had it since I got here. I just kept it from you.”
“My grandma told you to keep it outside the property.”
“Pretty much.”
“How did it conveniently get here?”
He straddles the bike, letting its heavy weight press against his muscular thighs. “I asked Koy to drop it here for us when you were too busy playing hide and seek with the boys in that house.”
“Nah, I’m too busy keeping you entertained ninety-nine times a day.” I hop on, taking the spot behind him without a second thought. “You’re welcome.”
He can’t suppress his sweet little chuckle this time as he hands me the second helmet. “Want to go for a ride?”
I grab it and glance at him over his shoulder. “Why would I spread my thighs around you if I didn’t want to go for a ride?” Pleased with myself, I put it on and fasten my hands around his tight body.
I loved him so much that I never dared to imagine my life without him.
He was my first everything, and every part of me felt it.
No words can adequately express the depth of my heartbreak, no matter how vividly I paint the picture.
The pain inside me blares like a symphony of chainsaws, yet no one can hear it, and that brutality echoes louder than death ever will.
Internal pain is the most extreme form of torture. It’s silent, yet deadly.
I shake myself out of the memories and bolt outside the house for fresh air. Rubbing my eyes, I look up as the engine of a motorcycle roars across the street.
I should just go back home, but it’s Jason again.
I’m no match for his bike’s speed, but my legs say otherwise. I dash down the street, picking up speed as I go. The clamor of the party fades into the distance, echoing as my shoes press against a far curb. He stops abruptly by the side of the road and parks the bike.
I continue to follow as he enters the woods.
My breaths come out short and fast. I round barks and twigs. I have no explanation for my actions beyond the obvious—if he is one of the masked killers, I want answers.
A bright flash of lightning illuminates the paths between the trees.
My heart is thumping. The sky cracks open.
A low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance before crashing forcefully through the quiet woodland.
The loud boom is enough for this eerie, strange feeling to seep into my system faster than lightning.
I pull my hood up, shielding my eyes from the spitting rain as I take lighter steps and go deeper, yet he is still nowhere in sight.
I flinch when a blonde woman runs toward me with tears in her eyes. Her spaghetti strap slips off her shoulder, exposing her bare breast as she rushes past me, heading in the opposite direction from where I came.
A rapid flow of anger surges through my veins.
Twigs crack to my right with a faint whimper sound.
I advance in that direction and stop short at the sight of the knife in his hand, plunged deep into a Joker’s throat. Blood cascades down like a waterfall, soaking his purple coat.
“No one threatens what is mine.” Jason rages, grinding his teeth. It’s dark and disturbing, filled with malice. He stares into the dark pool of horror that flashes in the man’s eyes, waiting until nothing remains. As he pulls the knife back, the man thuds to the ground, smacking his head on a log.
I clench and unclench my fist to calm myself down.
“Enjoying the show?” He wipes the blade against the dead man’s shirt and straightens back up. With a confident gait, he prowls toward me, eating up the atmosphere step by step. Broad and towering, full of lethal energy, unlike the calm demeanor he displayed inside that house we were in.
His presence is sucking all the oxygen around me.
“Stop,” I order, raising my hand. Although it should feel like a demand, I’m not certain I convey that sentiment.
But it doesn’t matter. He still stops in place.
“Are you one of the masked killers?” I refuse to blink, staring straight into the devil’s eyes. They sparkle as if possessed by pure vengeance, a force as powerful as gravity that can pull anyone in.